


hungry like the wolf

by Evanaissante



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Murder, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Werewolves, it's fenrir greyback guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 02:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19820452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanaissante/pseuds/Evanaissante
Summary: The wolf howled in pleasure, shifting their bodies to keep the younger man under him, letting his teeth bruise the snow skin as he pierced through it, making Trevor cry out. The pain was intense but short-lived, quickly, the beast licked the wound, letting his power filled saliva heal what he had just caused. Trevor felt himself drift away, his eyes closing as his body was disposed of."When you wake up," Said the beast near his ear, making the man tremble. "Call me Fenrir."





	1. White Chapel, 1989

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a long time ago, it's nasty because it's fenrir.  
> sorry?

Trevor is not a brave man.

He never marched down the streets for his own rights, too scared that someone would recognise him in the sea of colourful flags. He never stopped his drunk clients from harassing the waitresses, the fear of getting punched stronger than the need to do what's right.

When he meets two cruel creatures in the dark alley next to the bar he works at, he doesn't try to fend them off and save the defenceless redhaired girl who's been bitten and torn apart, her eyes already glassy when the biggest beast laps at the blood that's dripping from her neck wound.

What Trevor does is call an ambulance anonymously from a payphone close to the crime scene. He's careful, paranoid even, and tries to change his voice into something deep and neutral.

Afterwards, he's not interrogated by the police, they're too busy at work to really investigate the death of a heroin prostitute in a shady neighbourhood, they never go to the bar nor ask questions to the pale, suspicious-looking bartender. He's asked, however, to clean the blood from the alley's floor, a bloody crime scene near to the bar might mingle with business.

When the creatures come back, on a brisk night where the only light is the moon, watching from afar before he moves to the dead body and slowly picks it up and scoops it inside a plastic bag, careful to not stain his Clash shirt and jeans with blood.

Once he's done, he mops the floor forcefully and then disposes of the body in the garbage. Nobody ever opens the bar's trash, tomorrow at the dawn, the dead girl will be gone, like she never existed in the first place.

Trevor expects guilt to slowly creep from his stomach to his throat, leaving him paralysed. But it never comes, he never feels the powerful waves of disgust nor does he loses sleep over the dead hooker.

It becomes a habit when the moon shines high in the sky, full and fertile, creatures roam the streets and feast until the sun rises, leaving Trevor alone with a broken corpse, flesh and guts bitten off, bones shattered and eyes clouded with unshed tears.

But the timing isn't always right, sometimes the body stays for days inside the pile of garbage, rotting under the sun and stinking the whole alley.

He waits until the next night, shivering when he hears the monsters' howls moving closer and closes his eyes when a girl screams in terror in the darkness.

He lets the beasts eat in peace, not foolish enough to try to stop them while their claws are still deep inside human skin. When they're done, he moves out of the shadows and observes the tallest creature, a large black wolf with icy blue eyes.

"You need to hunt on Thursdays," Trevor says, voice slightly shaking from fear as the wolf looks up, his ears turning to listen. "The trash is picked up on Friday mornings, if you eat them then, I can clean up and be done with it."

The beast growls and moves until they are almost face to face, his cold orbs digging in Trevor's brown ones.

Then the fur of the creature turns into inked skin, his claws become nails and he's now a man, a very naked man with amusement written all over his face.

"You've been cleaning up behind us?" The wolf, now a man, says and his voice freezes Trevor in place. "You've been _helping monsters_?"

Trevor shakes. "Yes."

The beast grabs his arm, but Trevor is not scared, he's not brave, he's never been, but with a thing like the man in front of him, he doesn't need courage.

His intelligence is enough, and he's got plenty to sell.

"What's your name little one?" The wolf asks as he smirks.

"Trevor Thompson." He answers, a smile growing on his own face.

He's not bored anymore.


	2. Wrexham, 1991

"Well," Snickered Trevor Thompson as he eyed the werewolf pack below him, all mixing and melting into one another, blood and other fluids making them glisten under the moonlight. "Normal is subjective, but I can't say I see this every day."

The wolf hissed, his voice between a snarl and a chuckle. "If you did, I would be surprised."

"But would you be impressed?" Continued Thompson, letting his fingers roam the beast's fur, a gift no one else except him could dream of without losing a limb. "If you knew that blood, guts and werewolf cubs were something usual to me."

The wolf laughed deeply, the low tone of his voice making something in Trevor shiver with want.

"I wouldn't be impressed, no." The werewolf stood close to the other man, letting his multiple gold chains fall over his lover's bare chest. "Jealous, maybe, but not impressed."

Trevor smirked, smug. " _ You _ ? You would be jealous of another werewolf?"

The beast growled, his breath hot on Thompson's cheek. "I don't fool myself into thinking you don't fuck other men, but I do hope I am the only monster who shares your bed."

They never discussed their relationship before, simply because it wasn't one. They had no feelings for each other, except maybe respect and even that would be forgotten between warm sheets and even warmer bodies. Still, Trevor had never looked for another lover, maybe because he was too lazy to look around for someone willing, or maybe because he did feel something for the beast, something perverted by the sex and drugs they shared, but something nonetheless.

"As crazy as you may think, I only share my sexual  _ tour de force _ with you," Trevor said, lifting himself off the uncomfortable bed they shared to pour himself another glass of vodka. "I don't know if that makes you lucky or cursed."

The wolf observed him, probably listening to his heartbeat to hear a lie, but he couldn't find one.

"The thing is," Trevor continued, in a vain attempt to break the icy silence that was settling between them. "The other lads would be quite cheap compared to you."

The werewolf smiled, his large canines almost biting into his lower lip, drawing blood.

"Are you  _ in love _ , Trevor?" Mocked the beast, grabbing the arm of the other man forcefully. "Does your heart flutter when you see me?"

Trevor sneered, trying to hide behind a hateful grin the feeling that lied deep beneath his skin. "Don't be ridiculous, how could anyone love  _ you _ ?"

"You tell me, little one." The wolf cackled, looking delighted. "I can feel your heartbeat faster," He added while pressing his fingers to Trevor's chest. "Your pulse is rising, your blood is heating, desire crawling in your bones, you want a monster to make you feel valuable, worse even  _ loved _ ."

The werewolf started to laugh, his voice freezing Trevor in place, making him dizzy with fear and embarrassment.

The human knew that his lover was a mean little thing, cruel and bloodthirsty, but he had only shared intimacy with him, the kind that left you breathless and hot all over, not the kind that brought tears to your eyes and terror in your abdomen.

Trevor stayed quiet, letting the monster laugh and laugh, bitterness heavy on his tongue.

When the beast stopped, letting his head fall back on the hard pillow under him, Trevor tried to stand up again, the need to light a cigarette stronger than the anxiety he felt.

The wolf grasped Trevor's right arm and pulled him onto his upper body, making him fall as he captured the rest of the man's body with his strong legs, wrapping them around the small hips of his very mortal lover.

"Where are you going, precious?" The beast said, licking Trevor's cheek possessively. "Don't you want to cuddle?"

"Let me go." Snarled Trevor, fury overtaking him. "Let me go, or I swear to god..."

The beast laughed again. "Or what, dear? You'll beat me to death?"

The monster's eyes gleamed, amusement making him giddy but also dangerous, too impulsive and excited to control whatever desire he felt at the moment.

"You are something else, Trevor Thompson." He affirmed the werewolf. "You are so thin, so pale and fragile, yet if I gave you the opportunity, you would carve bodies into statues just to please me."

"You think too highly of yourself." The man barked, twisting his body as he tried to break his lover's stronghold.

"Oh, but I don't." The wolf breathed. "I don't love you, Trevor Thompson. I don't think I  _ can _ if I'm honest with you."

The grip around Trevor became almost unbearable.

"The only person I ever loved was my mother." The monster whispered, almost vulnerable, making the other man's heart miss a beat. "And I killed her."

Trevor stopped resisting, letting his energy drain out of him as he caressed the rough jaw of his lover.

"You don't do well with love." He murmured.

The beast tittered. "That's an understatement. "

"I don't either." Said Trevor. "That's why I stayed with you because you wouldn't bother me with something as trivial as love."

"Yet, here we are." The werewolf replied.

"Yet, here we are." Repeated the man.

They stared at each other, soft brown eyes meeting lethal blue ones.

"If I gave you the certainty of something easy." Started the beast. "If I offered mind-blowing sex and simple conversation for the rest of your life, would you take it?"

Trevor inhaled sharply, letting his lover speak freely.

"If I promised you power and opulence, blood and obedience, would you leave your pathetic human life and follow me into the darkness?" The wolf disclosed. "If I gave you all that, what would you say?"

Trevor kissed the beast's chapped lips, hunger taking over. "I would say that it isn't love."

"Good thing you don't want that, then." His lover said, letting himself be kissed.

Trevor let his eyes roam the man's body, his fur patches and black tattoos, his threatening black claws and black, tousled hair.

"I would say yes," Trevor confessed.

The wolf howled in pleasure, shifting their bodies to keep the younger man under him, letting his teeth bruise the snow skin as he pierced through it, making Trevor cry out.

The pain was intense but short-lived, quickly, the beast licked the wound, letting his power filled saliva heal what he had just caused.

Trevor felt himself drift away, his eyes closing as his body was disposed of.

"When you wake up," Said the beast near his ear, making the man tremble. "Call me Fenrir."


	3. Yorkshire, 1992

Contrary to what Fenrir might believe, Trevor is not totally under his spell. Yes, he enjoys the sex quite a lot and the recreational use of drugs is also a good motivation to stay with a bloodthirsty werewolf, still, Trevor doesn't like to share. He never enjoyed sharing his toys when he was a little boy and he certainly doesn't like sharing his very male, very adult, very supernatural toy either.

He's jealous, you say? _So be it._ He doesn't care about these types of things anymore, he stopped giving a shit about it when Fenrir gave him his name, like a gift, freely, just to please him. If he belongs to Fenrir, then he Fenrir belongs to him as well. That's how it works.

And it makes Trevor sick to his stomach when he hears his lover say the boy's name at night, singing it like a church choir would praise their lord. Still, he's the one who possesses Fenrir's body, who makes him groan and howl like a beast even on crescent moons. But this _parasite_ has Fenrir's mind and soul, this _pathetic being_ haunts his lover's bones like the ghost of an ache that's been soothed too soon. And Trevor might kill Fenrir in his sleep if he doesn't stop shivering every time he mentions _the_ _other._

He tries to ask, one evening, while they're sharing a joint and drinking red wine that was stolen from the man's home they wrecked that day. Fenrir almost talks, almost let's slip what's so special about this boy before deciding that Trevor's ass and mouth are much more interesting conversation topics. Trevor doesn't stop him, but he swears he will hear this story in its entirety, one day.

A few days later, he digs up information about _the other_ through the Betas of the pack, who accept his demands and orders like Fenrir's owns, just because Trevor is fucking their Alpha. He's basically werewolf royalty just because their _King_ can’t resist a lay. It's almost as funny as it is sad. He doesn't think too much of it though, he knows not to push his luck and gets his answers as quickly as possible. He learns some things, not a lot, but enough to know the _other_ is not entirely a threat, just a fantasy Fenrir can’t seem to lock away. It doesn't calm Trevor's anger, but it helps him settle on a plan, something that might finally make the werewolf his and only his.

He buys new clothes just for his plan, and he sets the scene before Fenrir barges in their room, looking frenzy and in need of something. When his eyes catch the sight of Trevor, they widen until Fenrir growls and jumps on his prey with no precaution or thought for the body under his. But, that's alright, that's how Trevor likes it. And when they're done breaking the bed and marking the sheets, Trevor is certain he just did it, he won his battle and he can now own every part of Fenrir for the rest of his life. But as he pulls off the oversized patterned jumper he bought this afternoon, he feels Fenrir mumbling something against his back.

The same name, over and over again.

And Trevor swears, if he ever meets this _Remus Lupin,_ he will kill him with his own hands.


	4. Scotland, 1998

The room is large and luxurious, making Trevor envious as to whom such a place belongs to. He lets his eyes roam around the room, catching glimpses of multicoloured crystals and dusty books that seem to be written in Latin.

The leather chair he's sitting on is a deep burgundy colour while the rest of the room is mostly made of wood, oak and mahogany. It's majestic, it's beautiful, it's...

 _It's bullshit_ , growls a voice in his mind, _everything here is bullshit._

He was sleeping when _they_ entered his room and forced him out of his bed, dressing him up quickly with their wand while informing him that he was needed upstate. He only agreed to go because he didn't have the choice, _they_ didn't leave him one.

He doesn't even know who _they_ are, the only thing he's sure about is that Fenrir is nowhere to be found and he's all alone in an unknown location, at the mercy of people who seem to possess powers he can't even fathom.

The door behind him creaks and lets in a tall and severe woman with grey eyes and thin lips, she looks at Trevor like he's a wounded animal, but there is no pity in her voice when she settles in front of him.

"Hello, Mr Thompson, I hope your trip was not too tiring." She says and her voice is smooth like the purring of a cat.

Trevor shrugs, "It was alright."

The woman smiles coldly, her fingertips tapping a simple tune on the surface of her desk. "I'm Minerva McGonagall, the headmistress of this very institution you're currently visiting."

Trevor looks around the room a second time, his attention solely on the moving paintings he can see behind Ms McGonagall.

"Why am I here?" He asks. "Where is Fenrir?"

The woman, McGonagall, observes him closely before she smiles again, softly now.

"We brought you here, Mr Thompson, because you were the only wolf from Mr Greyback's pack who didn't come here, who didn't fight." She opens a small box in front of him and takes out a shortbread she eats quietly. "Why is that?"

Trevor picks a biscuit as well, biting the edges off and letting the buttery paste melt on his tongue and soothe his throat before he replies. "Fenrir said it was my battle to fight." He chuckles darkly as he eats another piece. "It wasn't even really his to fight either, he just wanted to show the world, _your_ world, what we are capable of."

McGonagall's smile creeps off her face. "You knew about this war?"

"I was aware of it, yes." He answers. "Fenrir told me he would fight here and then come back home, but I guess that he got caught. That he lost."

"He did," McGonagall says darkly. "He lost."

"He won't like it. He hates losing." Trevor laughs, he knows he's making her uncomfortable.

She wasn't prepared for his cold stare and sharp smile, she thought she would meet Fenrir's pet.

Not his _beast_.

"When can he come back home?" Trevor asks, "I miss his cock."

McGonagall doesn't even flinch, "He won't come _home_. He's a killer."

"Well, if you won a war, so are you."

That's when McGonagall flinches.

They don't talk after that, Trevor doesn't ask anything else, he knows that whatever they do, whatever they say, Fenrir will come back.

Fenrir will come back home covered in blood and guts, and they'll drink vodka, they'll smoke and fuck.

He knows Fenrir will be back because he knows that, a wolf can be kept in a cage, but a monster won't ever be imprisoned.


End file.
